


The Nice and Accurate Love Story of A. J. Crowley and A. Z. Fell

by SealandRocks



Series: Love Stories for the Oblivious [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Historical References, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rain symbolism, The Blitz, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SealandRocks/pseuds/SealandRocks
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have been dancing around each other since the beginning. From Eden to London, it eventually becomes very hard to avoid the only other immortal around. And after so many centuries, having a physically body becomes a bit uncomfortable. Crowley is left to wonder what it is about Aziraphale that helps ease the ache in his soul. It would only take him 6000 years to figure out that it was rooted in something deeper all along.





	The Nice and Accurate Love Story of A. J. Crowley and A. Z. Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have been in love for 6000 slutty, slutty years. 
> 
> I regret nothing.

In the beginning, there was nothing. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly nothing. It was more of a nothing where someone will forget where the conversation was leading, then shrug it off and say, “Oh, it was nothing.” There is still a vague trail of what nothing was, which violates the definition of nothing. There is a slight memory of what was supposed to be said, a faint whiff of things supposed to be addressed but now would never be brought to light due to the subjugation of the topic to nothing. It was more of a precursor to being forgotten than it ever was not existing in the first place. 

So no, there wasn’t nothing in the beginning. But the beginning was the closest the universe had ever been to nothing. It was just Her, no angels or demons or people or thoughts or love or hate. Just Her. The simplest the universe would ever be again. Entropy of 0. 

Then She had a thought, and it was all downhill from there. 

He had never seen rain before. He had built star systems and forged elements and tasted the rather charming tang of black-hole-induced gravitational waves, but rain was new. So many things were new these days, like bodies and apples and fire. The demon didn’t really know what to expect from rain.

The first few drops fell hot and heavy at their feet. It was as if the world was crying, grieving over the loss of innocence in the garden. Perhaps She was angry with him and was creating new weather just to show it. Either way, it was Crowley’s doing. He had proverbially spit in the face of what God had held most sacred. Adam and Eve had left the garden, wildly wielding Aziraphale’s flaming sword and bellies full of forbidden fruit. It was Crowley’s first real betrayal of the heavens. It was the first time he wasn’t alone in questioning God’s will. It felt good.

He shuffled a little closer to Aziraphale as the rain began, and the angel opened his wing to give him shelter. It was a kindness that would grow into a warm coal in Crowley’s chest in the years to come, but this was the first time and it was hot across every inch of his vessel’s skin. There weren’t any words said, no expectation of favors in return or hostility towards the first real act of evil in the world. It was just breathing for Aziraphale. It was just so natural, so easy and unassuming, that Crowley didn’t even notice that he was falling again. He didn’t register the warmth as anything wrong or attribute it to feelings he shouldn’t be having. It was just nice. And warm, sheltered from the rain under an umbrella of pearlescent feathers. 

Rain wasn’t entirely unpleasant, he thought as water pooled around his bare feet and soaked his robe. Crowley could still feel the burning sulfur beneath his back, spine twisted horribly and agony ripping apart his very being. He could still hear the crunching of his wings as they lay damaged beneath him. He could see the corruption dripping down his halo with his last shreds of Grace, eroding it from completion into two, black points like horns on his head. Oh, how he had grieved in that moment, longing to be accepted back into Her love and to have this awful pain taken away. He had burned then, and every instant since. But the rain brought relief. It was slowly washing away the pain, and Crowley found himself drawn to the cool sensation of it. Rain was a very welcome change.

It would be the first of many changes, he would find.

Crowley decided only a brief thousand years later that rain was not always pleasant. It was cleansing and a welcome break from the never-ending hell fire inside him, like, we get it, hell fire, ooooo. Hell fire could fuck off. But rain sometimes could clean away things it shouldn’t.

The raindrops now were smaller than they were at the beginning of the world, although the storm clouds were about the same. When it came to royally screwing people over with weather, no one did it better than God herself. Humans didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary, a bit of divine rage, but Crowley remembered the days where it was just him and God, pulling helium into cores of stars and setting them alight, and he shuddered at the unrivaled rage being displayed before him. 

“Been a while since we had a storm like this,” Aziraphale said almost cheerfully beside him. Crowley could tell it was an attempt to cheer him up. He was silent at his spot on the arks’ railing. It was nice to have someone to pester for a thousand years, but he had yet to encounter Aziraphale when he didn’t either have a huge smile on his face or was just being too nice. Something about it was sickeningly magnetic, and Crowley wasn’t in the mood. 

“She’s really upset this time.”

Something tugged on Crowley’s skin. It was a familiar sensation, like holding in a lungful of air for too long but unable to exhale. It itched over him as Aziraphale stepped to the railing beside him. His mind went back to fire and sulfur, being wrenched from God’s heart and cast aside into eternal damnation. It was like Crowley’s soul was trying to beat its way out, tired of being confined to his skin for so long. The sensation wasn’t terrible, and when Crowley pushed it down he realized that the sensation had always been there, ever since Eden. The troubles of having a physical body, he supposed.

Water lapped at the sides of the ark, the torrential rain making quick work of what was dry land a few moments ago. Aziraphale watched the water moving, mesmerized, but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the whirlpools with him. He felt sick to his stomach. 

“It’s not fair,” Crowley whispered, offering himself one single moment of weakness. There wasn’t any need for Heaven or Hell to know about his own internal struggle. There was only one person in the entire universe he trusted not to judge him for the tears stinging his eyes, and he couldn’t even bear to look at him as he spoke, “They’re just children. Children who didn’t do anything wrong. They’re just children.”

Crowley gripped the rail hard, shivering. He didn’t dare look up as Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulders, comforting him like he did at the beginning, when everything was right and those who did wrong were punished with no collateral. Crowley felt the sob catch in his throat as he cried. He mourned for the death of the innocents, for the lives he wasn’t allowed to save or else face a fate worse than Falling. He sobbed and vowed to never harm a child in any way. It was bad enough he had to watch. 

“It’s ineffable, my dear. There’s nothing you can do.” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle and sad, like how Crowley didn’t want to feel. He had never hated that word more than at that instant. Why did children, innocent babies, have to die to repent for the sins of men who knew nothing of a higher power? Stupid, ineffible plan. Crowley couldn’t even do anything to stop it, so he just cried and mourned and let himself be held by his first and only friend in the world. 

It wasn’t hard to find Aziraphale after that. Some part of them had changed on the ark. It was like Crowley’s skin longed for the other’s touch, grown accustomed to the warmth and kindness and always seeking the angel out like he was a missing part of Crowley’s own body. When they were apart, Crowley felt more alone than he ever had, his soul aching to expand beyond the bounds of his body and reach out for his friend. When they were together, the sensation was like a purring cat inside him. It was warm and fuzzy and adorable and begged for fish. Crowley didn’t know what to make of the last one, but that is what he felt.

Aziraphale always seemed to appear every couple of years or so. Crowley had taken to keeping track of where the angel was off to next, but still managed to play every meeting off as a coincidence. First it was little things, like happening to meet in the same market or causing mischief in a village somewhere. Crowley would show up, pester Aziraphale for as long as he could, then try not to notice when Aziraphale moved onto the next village or providence with just a cordial “Goodbye”. They had known each other for thousands of years, Crowley figured at this point he at least deserved a weekend of company.

So, Crowley got drunk. Alcohol was quite literally the finest thing humans had ever accomplished. Heaven believed nothing should ever be eaten or drank by celestial beings, and Hell’s liquor selection consisted exclusively of fermented garbage. Humans at least had some imagination. Whoever created the concept of serving alcohol in gallon-sized jugs with handles deserved a spot somewhere high in God’s graces. 

He had his own favorite watering hole, as the humans called it, in Rome for about 30 years now. He had brought Jesus here once. Fitting in with the upper-class clientele was the perfect cover for his shaded glasses, and significantly decreased the number of demon hunters he had to deal with while drunk. It was the perfect place to ignore the seed of hurt Aziraphale had planted in his chest. He currently was on his second jug, his blood swimming in alcohol and mind wallowing in self pity when he heard Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Crawly- I mean, Crowley? Well, fancy running into you here!” 

Crowley didn’t have to look up to hear the smile in Aziraphale’s voice, but he did anyway. He really wasn’t in the mood but something was drawn to where Aziraphale brought up a chair next to him. A small part of him breathed a sigh of relief, like “Oh, there you are my dear. I’ve missed you.” Crowley pushed it down, clearing his throat of any incriminating stream-of-consciousness. 

Crowley really didn’t want to be bothered. So, naturally, he would have to refuse the angel’s offer of oysters. He couldn’t possibly say yes with enthusiasm, a smile hanging on the corner of his lips and woes forgotten. Why he followed Aziraphale down the block to Petronius' new restaurant was really beyond him, aside from the good conversation. 

Crowley didn’t know how to feel about oysters. They were kind of slimy and salty, but it was nice not to have to waste time chewing all the time. Aziraphale, for what he was worth, looked like he was back in Heaven. 

“They have to grow these in floating nets, you know. Big blocks of them floating in the ocean. Others will grow them on the ground, but then a mess of silts creates this grainy texture.” Aziraphale was waving a hand in the air as he continued his explanation of how oysters were raised. They had downed another jug of wine while dining, and Crowley couldn’t remember a time when he felt this relaxed. Watching Aziraphale go on and on had the coal in Crowley’s chest flaring up again, a tingling sensation rushing into the tips of his fingers as he watched how his angel wiggled excitedly in his chair. It was a heady and intoxicating rush. It was a four letter word that Crowley would never admit he had fallen into. He didn’t want it to end. 

The waistress came back with a fresh plate of oysters, setting them down with a wink at Crowley. 

“On the house,” She drawled out like syrup, and touched Crowley’s shoulder as she left. It was just a brush, meant to be more but recoiled at the hotness of Crowley’s skin, and the confusion it caused in the demon made him miss the angry stare Aziraphale had fixed upon her back. 

“These truely are the best in Rome,” Aziraphale took another oyster, and Crowley found himself watching how the angel’s throat moved as he ate. 

“They are good. But, you know, there’s a curry place in India that could run this place for its money.”

Aziraphale hummed excitedly, lighting up where he sat, and took another oyster.

And so the first part of their arrangement was born. As far as Crowley’s accomplishments on Earth went, it was by far the one he was most proud of. There were only so many faces that were around for thousands of years at a time, and only one that had ever been friendly to each other. Getting lunch or dinner here and there wouldn’t hurt, as long as no one ever knew about it. It was just to catch up and keep up with the times, Crowley had said. Aziraphale didn’t need to know how Crowley felt he would go insane without the constant, calming presence of the angel. And Crowley didn’t need to know that Aziraphale, happy and drunk beside him, had the same ulterior motives for accepting.

As time went on and people withered and died and were born and lived and died again, an angel and a demon found a sort of peace. They worked in opposite directions until they didn’t, eventually growing content just to live and eat and drink in each other’s company. They met every few years or so, sometimes multiple times in a year, and together they watched as empires rose and fell. Together, they watched the world grow and change and they changed with it, growing closer and more inquisitive and a bit more rebellious and just a little bit more human. 

“All I’m saying is that if you discover a new place, somewhere that is the human equivalent of an alien, why would you kill it? Why are people’s first instinct always to kill whatever they see? That’s not anything my side put into them, they’re just like that! If downstairs knew how fucked up humans were all by themselves, I’d be out of a job.” Crowleys’ hands painted an exquisite picture between them. In the Before times, these hands had weaved solar systems together, and had Crowley been paying any attention he would have seen how Aziraphale’s eyes practically devoured every motion. 

“Come on, not all of it can be natural. Your very presence is chaotic for humans.” Aziraphale was surprisingly composed for how absolutely shitfaced they both were. 

“Hm,” Crowley considered this for a moment. His mind flashed back to the earlier days of the Earth where he would simply touch a human on the shoulder and cause them to go insane without meaning it. He had always thought it was simply his devilishly good looks, but the demon-chaotic-nature thing made more sense. “I never endorse killing endangered species. I’ll take credit for it, but I had a hand in creating the Dodo and God letting them all be killed off is just cruel.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair. They remained silent for a time, both pondering how the world was going both south and north with every passing day. Outside, high in the clouds, rain had begun to brew. It was just waiting for the right moment to fall, waiting by God’s command to begin washing away the masks that were too easy to wear in the sunlight. 

As soon as the wine was gone and the food was eaten, Aziraphale declared it was time for him to return home. He had bought a small corner storefront in Soho, and was currently setting up the beginnings of a marvelous bookshop. Crowley wanted to ask why he needed to run a store at all if he was so adamantly against parting with any of his precious books, but he understood better than anyone the need to do something before he exploded. 

The burning itch he carried under his skin had gotten worse. Crowley had been ignoring it for centuries, but tonight it was nearly unbearable. He had ached through the entirety of their meeting, unable to think of anything but how tight his skin was and how he could feel the warmth radiating off of Aziraphale for the entire time. He wanted to lean into that warmth and run away at the same time. If he concentrated, Crowley could smell Aziraphale’s cologne. He always carried a distinct smell of rain water and paper about him, but tonight Aziraphale smelled exceptional. 

Maybe it was the cologne that made Crowley decide to walk Aziraphale home, even though it was out of his way. Maybe he wanted the movement to shake the ache out. Whatever it was, Crowley found himself walking slowly beside his angel, a light smile playing on his lips as Aziraphale went into the literary uniqueness of Shakespeare’s plays for the fourth time in the past century. 

“Truly, a feat like those William has accomplished has not been paralleled. Who would have thought that a theater could change the perspective of the play you watched within it? And the diction from the man playing Hamlet was beyond praise-worthy. One of these days, I really insist that we go together to see it. The treasure of these works will be preserved for generations, and here we were there at the beginning of things. It’s only right we continue to preserve the legacy.”

Aziraphale lit up in moments like this. His hair puffed like it was spun out of clouds, and his face beamed like a child on Christmas. Crowley had very rarely seen his eyes so alive and happy. He noticed that mixed in with the blue of his irises were streaks of silver-green. He had never seen them before, but they added an ethereal glow to his joy. It was captivating. 

Crowley didn’t notice he was staring until he saw the first raindrop graze Aziraphale’s cheek and soak his collar. The water caused Aziraphale to stop his analysis of iambic pentameter and look up, wistfulness now directed at the heavy clouds. Crowley was suddenly burning with jealousy that Aziraphale never looked at him like that. 

“We best get a move on.” Aziraphale said cordially. They picked up their pace, but within 30 seconds the skies had opened and were dropping thick sheets of rain upon the duo. Crowley could feel the cold, wet drops finding his scalp and working down to his neck and the sensation made him shiver. They were running now, mud splashing up out of puddles beneath their feet and causing Aziraphale to yelp in distress. Satan forbid he actually got a stain on his white clothes, Crowley thought humorously. Maybe he should “accidentally” kick some mud up just to see what the reaction would be.

Demons didn’t believe in karma, but it was definitely no coincidence that as soon as the thought had occurred Crowley’s shoe caught a loose brick and pitched him flat onto his face. His hand shot out as he fell, snagging Aziraphale’s sleeve and pulling him backwards to the ground as well. For a breathless moment, they were both still; Crowley face down in the mud and Aziraphale wet but relatively clean where he had fallen mostly on top of the demon. 

It was impossible to tell who started it first. A snicker released into the night, and all at once both angel and demon were laughing on the ground. It was the type of laughter that started in your chest from the sheer joy of things, and moved into all of you until you couldn’t move other than clutch your belly and curl up. They laughed and cackled and tried to control themselves until their stomachs ached and there were tears of mirth in their eyes. 

It took a remarkable amount of effort to actually get back up. Aziraphale eventually rolled off of Crowley onto the cleaner cobblestones, but was unable to get farther than onto his knees before he was doubling over again in laughter. Crowley wasn’t much better; the mud made it hard to get up in the first place, but every movement was slippery and the continuous falling only made them both laugh harder. 

After either a minute or an hour or a year, Aziraphale eventually got to his feet. He helped Crowley up next, careful not to slip in the mud though their giggles threatened them both. The demon was absolutely covered in muck and tried his best to wipe it away from his face, aided by the thick rain. Aziraphale laughed again, and so did Crowley. The mud was gross and he mourned the state of his clothing, but he hadn’t smiled like this in millennia. 

Aziraphale sucked in a breath that would have not been noticeable if Crowley hadn’t been looking right at him. There was something reverent in his gaze. It made Crowley’s skin burn under his soaked clothing. It was like Aziraphale wanted to pull away but couldn’t find it in him to move. He guessed the angel was simply scared of getting any more dirty and wet than he already was, but the prickling sensation on the back of his neck told him otherwise. 

“So I guess I’m the one doing the dirty work tonight, eh?” Crowley prompted with a smile, unnerved by the silence. He couldn’t seem to suppress the grin on his face even after the laughter had lessened. How could he know that Aziraphale was hanging onto the shreds of his restraint, torn apart by the demon’s lighthearted grin. It was close to angelic, and Aziraphale wanted to savor it forever. He wanted to clean Crowley up and take him apart and get him dirty again. 

Crowley didn’t know any of this. The closest he got to a hint was when Aziraphale touched his hands so gently to the sides of his face and pulled him in the 5 inches that separated them. 

The world stopped turning. Crowley’s brain short-circuited, eyes wide and staring in disbelief at the angel that was currently… kissing him. Aziraphale was kissing him, not prompted, eyes closed and a joyous smile still lingering on the corners of his mouth. Crowley felt the itch in his soul, the one that had persisted for centuries, ease just slightly. His eyes slid closed, lips being guided by Aziraphale’s in their slow, exultant dance. 

One of Aziraphale’s hands trailed up to cup the back of Crowley’s head, fingers tangling into his long hair and stroking his scalp. Crowley’s knees went weak, caught only by sheer force of will to stay upright. The slide of lips was soft and gentle and perfect. The hot ember in Crowley’s chest that had burned since Eden flared up suddenly, warming him all the way to his toes and sparking dangerously as Aziraphale’s tongue dragged across his lower lip. 

If this was what kissing was like, Crowley didn’t know how humans could do it and not die on the spot. The rain seemed to be the only thing keeping him from combusting. He felt lightheaded, stabilizing himself by grasping Aziraphale’s hips and struggling not to pass out. He didn’t even need oxygen, why did he feel so wonderfully suffocated?

All too soon, Aziraphale pulled away. Crowley didn’t know what sort of expression he had on his own face, but his angel looked positively broken. There was a vulnerable, soft look in his eyes that made Crowley shiver. A heartbeat passed, and the expression was gone, replaced by Aziraphale’s normal, wonderful smile. 

“You always were such a gentleman.” Aziraphale pulled away completely, and the only hint that anything had happened at all was the mud smeared along his cheek. Crowley felt an incapacitating surge of lust rise in his chest. He wanted to get Aziraphale dirty everywhere, to lay him down and make an absolute mess out of both of them. He wanted to stain his clothes and tossle his hair and kiss him everywhere the angel would let him.

But that wasn’t allowed for him. He couldn’t afford the luxury of pretending he could have his angel to himself. Even the thought could get him in serious trouble. Crowley cleared his throat and tried to banish the flush from his face as he stepped double to catch up to where Aziraphale was continuing their walk, unhurried in the rain. 

That fateful night would eventually become the night Crowley would dream of the most. Aziraphale had tasted like a delicate mixture of clean and sweet, and Crowley found his chest yearning stronger and stronger every day. He wanted to kiss him again. He needed it, would die if he didn’t have those soft, plump lips pressed against his own again. He wanted to talk to Aziraphale about it, but couldn’t figure out how to breach the topic. It was hard enough to bring it up the day of, bringing it up later just felt awkward. 

He couldn’t just keep ignoring this feeling, though. He had no doubt that time would only make this problem worse, as it had done in the past, and he was getting to the end of his rope. His skin felt like it was being stabbed by ants holding tiny blades and he hadn’t even been awake an hour. With the slightest bit of reluctance, he headed towards the bookshop. He and Aziraphale hadn’t really talked since the night of the kiss, but walking into the store still felt like coming home. 

It had been a while since the shop had been completed, but Crowley still couldn’t believe the amount of books Aziraphale had fit in here. He hadn’t seen so many books since the Library of Alexandria, and that was long in the past. In fact, Aziraphale had a few books from that library here somewhere, but Crowley hadn’t bothered to remember the names. 

The bookshop was crowded and warm and filled with rich chocolate furniture and yellow lamps that never needed replacements. It was chaotic in places, overflowing with books where bookshelves hadn’t been built yet, and never ending in hidden nooks and crannies where Aziraphale hid the books he didn’t want to sell. It was so “Aziraphale” in nature that the entire store was like being placed into the angel’s pocket, warm and safe and smelling of vanilla.

Aziraphale was talking adamantly to someone at the counter, no doubt doing his best to dissuade his customer from buying the stack of books they had selected. There was a deep set crease in Aziraphale’s brow as they argued. Crowley decided it would be best if he browsed for a bit. 

It wasn’t that Crowley couldn’t or didn’t like to read, it was just that writing his own stories was always so much more interesting. Why read the poetry of some drug-addict that had died a thousand years ago when he could write his own and it was just as good? He wondered idly if Aziraphale had any blank journals here, but decided against asking lest he get roped into admitting he had learned to write. Instead he just browsed the stacks of first edition books. These things were Aziraphale’s very livelihood, as much a part of him as his wings. He would lay down his life for them, and Crowley was there in the stacks, tracing a single finger down each gold-leafed spine. He tried not to think about the intimacy of it. 

“I’m sorry sir, but we’ll be closing soon. If you wouldn’t mind leaving.” Aziraphale’s kind voice floated from behind a bookshelf, hidden from Crowley’s view but so remarkably him that it was if he could see the angel. There was an edge to his voice that Aziraphale used exclusively on customers and Crowley couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. 

“Oh yes, I was just looking for a book of yours. Should be a script copy of a Midsummer’s Night Dream.” Crowley sauntered around the bookshelf, taking joy in the surprised look on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Crowley!” 

“Business is booming as ever, I see.”

Aziraphale sighed, wringing his hands together. “I’m afraid I still haven’t quite gotten used to the idea of parting with my books. I work so hard to collect them, you know.”

Crowley hummed, looking his angel up and down and taking note of the things he had changed. Aziraphale typically looked the same throughout history, so different from Crowley’s often changes, but the little alterations in clothing and mannerisms spoke volumes. He was wearing the same jacket as the night they had kissed, Crowley noticed. There was an almost imperceptible mud smudge on the collar.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you happen to sense that I needed your assistance?”

Crowley blinked in surprise. Aziraphale needed him? Maybe he wasn’t as alone in this plight as he thought.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose that must have been it. Do you know what needs to be done?”

“Of course!” Aziraphale laughed, gesturing Crowley to follow him into the backroom, “After all, they come with instructions these days.”

Crowley could feel his heart sink out of his throat when he saw the disassembled bookcase in the middle of the floor. Well, it wasn’t ideal, but at least conversation was flowing naturally. Knowing the angel, it should have taken another hundred years before Aziraphale could even look in his direction without blushing.

It took two hours, one blister, two splinters, one minor miracle, and a handful of creative curses to get the bookshelf assembled. Crowley’s hands ached at the end of it, but finally it was completed. He helped Aziraphale move it to the proper spot in the store, and stood by with a glass of wine while Aziraphale neatly organized one of his disheveled piles of books into a disheveled shelf of books. Crowley couldn’t tell much difference having an extra bookshelf would make in the long run, but at least Aziraphale was happy.

“I actually came here for a different reason, Angel. I have a problem, and I think you’re the one to help me.” Crowley said, deciding getting straight to the point would be best, “You’ve been on Earth as long as I have, after all. And I’m at the end of my rope.”

Aziraphale crooked a perfect eyebrow up at him, not pausing his organization but devoting attention to Crowley anyway. 

“That’s ominous. If you’re asking for those oysters again, I’m afraid the old place closed down a few hundred years ago, but I hear of a restaurant on Crete that has fantastic scallops.”

“It’s not that,” Crowley found himself very interested in a book cover a foot to the right of Aziraphale’s head. He refused to let himself blush. It was just physical, nothing to be embarrassed about. “Do you ever feel too tight in your skin?”

Aziraphale paused. Crowley found that he couldn’t breathe, waiting anxiously for the response. Perhaps he was just being stupid and needed to drink more. 

“Like the feeling of having eaten too much or how you feel after sitting in a sauna for an hour?”

“Like the feeling that your body is going to burst into flames because there is so much ethereal being shoved inside a metaphorical tea tin that your bones glow like nightlights and your eyes pop out.” 

Aziraphale considered the question a moment longer than Crowley thought necessary. He was about the recend his question and change the subject when Aziraphale finally spoke. 

“Yes, I suppose sometimes I do feel that. How long has this been going on?”

“Since the dawn of time.” Crowley said honestly. 

Aziraphale exhaled in surprise, mouth slightly open. It had no right being that distracting.

“You mean you’ve never done anything about it?”

“It was bearable before. Now it’s… not.” Crowley was staring at his feet, voice confident but his body language giving him away. He didn’t see Aziraphale smile sweetly at him until the angel took his hand.

“Luckily for you, I had similar problems back in Rome, so I have a pretty good idea about what could fix this.”

Crowley was decidedly not thinking about what had happened in Rome that had caused his angel to feel like this. He was too interested in what solution he hadn’t thought of yet that could cure him of this incessant pain.

Crowley divided his life into realizations. He realized he was alive in the beginning and that Aziraphale was his best friend and that humans were worth corrupting but not killing. There were Earth-shattering, life altering realizations that took his breath away like realizing he was in love with Aziraphale in Rome. Realizing he had been in love with his angel since the dawn of time. Realizing that that had been the reason he had refused all the offers and wanton glances and declarations of affection for thousands of years. Realizing that the ache in his skin lessened every time Aziraphale got close to him and had disappeared completely for a good century after their forbidden kiss in the rain.

In the bookshop, the night descending outside, Crowley realized for the first time that maybe he and Aziraphale wanted similar things. Maybe they were just two souls that needed each other like birds needed to sing and fish needed to swim. Maybe it was their nature to be together. Crowley also realized that he was staring. Aziraphale hadn’t caught on to that, at least not visibly, but Crowley couldn’t force himself to look anywhere else. He had stared at the scenery for thousands of years, he was sick of it. Aziraphale was much handsomer than anything else this world had to offer. 

The tugging on his skin was back, incessant and itching. The closer he got to relief from it, the worse it hurt. They should just get this over with. 

“Do you honestly think this is going to work?” Crowley asked gently. 

Aziraphale looked over at him, his expressional eyes kind. There was a sort of glow about him that Crowley had never noticed before. It came from deep within his hair, shimmering down and dimly making his skin glow, and Crowley found it impossible to look away. He gave a smile that had Crowley weak in the knees. This wasn’t the time for his persistent crush to be acting up, but his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest. 

“I do. It’s worked before.” Aziraphale nodded, just casually brushing over the fact he has actually done this before with others. Crowley pretended that didn’t make him jealous. 

“Well, let’s get on with it then. How do we start?”

Crowley’s nerves were on end as he carefully avoided eye contact. Aziraphale turned out to be the one who started it, lacing his fingers with Crowley’s loosely. Immediate heat burned up Crowley’s spine. His heart was hammering inside his chest, unsure and aching. Fuck, did he ache. His other hand tentatively rested itself upon his hip. 

Aziraphale’s calm balanced out how Crowley was about to fall apart on the inside. He doubted he could do this, but that soft smile was so sweet and kind that Crowley found he was just following orders. He had always hated taking orders, but Aziraphale was so easy to trust. He was nervous, but he was no longer scared.

Aziraphale’s hand touched Crowley’s cheek, cool and soft and delicious. 

“Just one, alright? If it doesn’t help, we won’t do it again.”

Crowley nodded. He could feel his body cracking at the seams already, too much time spent in this physical form, and he was willing to do anything if just for some godforsaken release. He leaned in just slightly, just enough to be noticed, and Aziraphale wasted no time in closing the rest of the distance. 

The first brush of their lips was soft and barely there, but immediately Crowley felt like he was going to pass out. The rush of emotions and entropy was too much to handle. He felt like he was going to combust, but his knees refused to give out before he got more. More, more, more. He had only gotten the briefest taste back then, and he had craved more like he craved silence in Hell. 

Crowley leaned in a bit more, tugging slightly on Aziraphale’s hip, and connected their lips into a proper kiss. He had held himself back before, not wanting the moment to end, but this time he couldn’t stop himself. His soul slipped, desperate for escape, and he felt the excess fire of his existence spill into Aziraphale’s vessel. In return, the cool running water of the angel’s soul slid into Crowley like it was made for him, molding around where he already was and simply filling in the cracks. Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, shuddering. It was a thousand times better than he had hoped. Feeling the inside of Aziraphale like this while caressing the outside was perfect. 

Caress was the right word for it, too. Aziraphale had breathed a mutual sigh of relief against Crowley’s lips and untangled their fingers to wrap an arm around his back. Crowley used his own free hand to grip the angel’s shoulder and draw him in deeper. His hands moved on their own, touching all the spaces they dared. The contact was hot and fresh and very, very nice. 

Crowley’s knees felt weak. Their mouths made tiny wet noises as they slid against one another. The demon added his tongue into the mix, extracting the smallest and most precious noises from Aziraphale’s mouth, and got lost in the sensation. He tasted like rain and smelled like butterscotch, filling Crowley’s senses until he could focus on nothing else. His essence slipped further into Aziraphale, pooling itself within the center of his angel’s chest while his own body absorbed the cool stream in exchange. It seemed too intimate a thing for a demon and angel to share, but here they were. Melting puddles of goo feeding light into one another. 

The minutes passed, breathless and hot, and eventually the ache in Crowley’s body was forgotten like a bad dream. He was pliant and satisfied, and it became very clear all of a sudden that he didn’t need to be kissing Aziraphale anymore. At this point, it was self-indulgent. 

Crowley let himself indulge for a few more moments. Aziraphale was making the most wonderful involuntary noises, and it was causing the heat of Crowley’s body to settle heavy in his abdomen. It felt so good, having Aziraphale’s focus completely on himself, that he was tempted to just let them continue until they were both naked and taking more and more pleasure from each other’s bodies. Lust became a living thing in his veins, but he forced himself to hold back. The whole point of this in the first place was to keep Crowley from exploding, and he was no longer in that exact same danger, so the right thing to do would be to just pull away. By mercy, he hated doing the right thing. 

Slowly, regretfully, Crowley drew his tongue back into his mouth and withdrew, separating them once again into their rightful vessels. Aziraphale kept his eyes closed for another half second, lips plush and wet with Crowley’s own saliva. A jolt of arousal made its way down Crowley’s spine before it was suppressed forcefully. 

They remained silent for another 30 seconds, still wrapped in each other’s arms. His skin felt like it fit right again, no longer painful. Then they separated completely, putting some space between them and each taking a moment to smooth clothes and compose themselves once again. 

“Well, that… helped.” Crowley nodded decisively, trying not to give away how badly we wanted to kiss Aziraphale again and again until that sweet, innocent smile was replaced with something much more indecent. 

“Excellent! Right, very good. It helped me as well, I feel very invigorated and warm.” Aziraphale was just short of grinning. He looked younger, almost. Crowley idly wondered if his own essence had caused that, since Aziraphale’s cool and watery soul had left him quite relaxed and refreshed rather than energetic. Not that it mattered, as long as they both ended satisfied. Physically, of course. 

“Yes, it was good. I think I need to sleep now. I feel more settled in this body than I have in a century.”

“Good, good. Well, if it becomes unbearable again, we now know what will fix it. No doubt you can find someone to accept your essence for a bit.” Aziraphale wasn’t looking at Crowley anymore. Did he honestly believe that anyone could provide the same kind of relief? That any mortal could withstand even part of his essence and not be burned alive from the inside out? It occurred to him that perhaps the suggestion was because Aziraphale had no desire to engage in something so intimate with him again, and the thought stung like holy water. Crowley pushed the entire thread away sharply.

“Right. Of course. Well, um. Thank you, I suppose.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him and nodded. He had a very amused expression on his face, eyes flicking up to Crowley’s hair every so often but not saying anything more.

“What’s so funny?” Crowley asked, but he only got an amused chuckle in return. It wouldn’t be until later, after Crowley had retired to his own home, that he would notice that the entire time his hair had been putting off very faint trails of smoke.

And so another part of the Arrangement was born. They would have lunch or dinner, enjoy each other’s company, and in the nights where the aching was too unbearable they would kiss. It was usually Crowley that started it. Once he had gotten a taste of what a pain-free existence was, his body didn’t want to bear cracking at the seams anymore. He could hold out for a century or so if he grinned and beared it, but once Aziraphale had assured him a dozen or so times that it truly wasn’t a bother, it became easier to ask for release. They were friends, after all, and friends helped each other out.

Crowley tried not to be disappointed every time he returned alone to his apartment. He didn’t want to think about how there was something running deeper and bigger and more painful in the core of his soul. That kissing Aziraphale was like coming home, like being forgiven for every bad thing he had done in his life, and that if the angel would allow it he would stay wrapped up in his arms forever. 

It became easier to not need an excuse to find his angel. In fact, it became ridiculously easy as Aziraphale kept getting himself wrapped up in more and more dangerous situations. Like seriously, the Nazis? The literal fucking Nazis? Crowley couldn’t have thought up half the things they did, and he was a literal demon. Didn’t stop him from taking credit for it, but these were not people his sweet Aziraphale should be mixing up with. Heaven, when Crowley showed up there was a gun to the angel’s head!

“Ow, ouch, ah, ah, ah, fuck, shit, ah,” Crowley swore as he made his way up the center of the church. He and Aziraphale had gone to the beach once in the 4th century on a particularly nice, sunny day, and the feeling was very reminiscent now. Of course, the beach wasn’t hot because it was literally disintegrating the soles of Crowley’s feet, but the memory was there nonetheless. Sweet mercy, Crowley would have just driven the Bently through the doors if he had known it was going to burn like this. 

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale looked rather like someone who had been walked in on doing something indecent. Crowley furrowed his brow, hopping between one foot and the other. Three minutes. 

“Stopping you getting into trouble.”

“I should have known. Of course. These people are working for you.” 

“No,” Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. He had no problem claiming credit for things in his reports, but something about the hurt behind Aziraphale’s eyes made it very important for the angel to know this wasn’t his doing, “They're a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn't want to see you embarrassed.”

“Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” 

Crowley tried not to look as impatient as he felt. Two minutes. He really didn’t want to be here, casually rolling between his feet and explaining how bomb diversion worked. Humans like these really didn’t deserve the luxury of knowing when they were going to die. They didn’t even have the decency to believe him. The explanation was sort of necessary for Aziraphale to save them both though, so he got through it. He just prayed Aziraphale came through, because discorporating in a church would require a lot of explanation. 

His angel didn’t fail him. Aziraphale had never failed him before, but it made him a bit tingly that he actually pulled through the miracle after all that talk about conserving them in France. And if he pulled a few more little miracles of his own to save those books Aziraphale loved so much, who was keeping track. Like Crowley was going to let something so precious perish in a bomb. 

He gave Aziraphale a ride home. The angel uncharacteristically quiet beside him. It was the same look he got when he found a new book; it was like he had realized something important in the bombed wreckage of the church. Crowley hoped it was that he shouldn’t be meddling in the middle of wars. Aziraphale was an angel born to fight, but Crowley prayed to whoever would listen that he would forget it and stop putting himself in danger like this. 

The bookshop was unlit and silent when Crowley pulled up. Aziraphale looked up at the dark doors, something close to fear in his perfect eyes. He looked back at Crowley, pleadingly, and the demon could almost sense what he wanted to ask. Satan, he needed to hear the words out loud.

“Crowley, I,” Aziraphale gulped, the quiet of the car pressing in on them both. Crowley could feel the weight of the atmosphere on them. Aziraphale paused, blushing in the dark, “I would really appreciate not being alone tonight.” 

Crowley released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Smiling at his angel was easy, natural, and he nodded as he pulled the car away from the curb and brought him back to his flat. Nothing would happen tonight, he knew this, but something told him that Aziraphale needed the company. 

Aziraphale was suspiciously quiet until they reached the apartment. He clutched the bag of books to his chest like a lost child but Crowley wasn’t going to say anything. He had come close to losing Aziraphale tonight as well, so he understood needing proximity to what you cared about. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face lit from his indifference into sheer wonder. Crowley was walking him to the bedroom to sleep, but Aziraphale branched off and ended up in the greenhouse. By the time Crowley noticed his angel wasn’t behind him anymore, Aziraphale was neck deep in vines and leaves, absolutely beaming. His bags of books stood at the doorway, nearly forgotten in the excitement to see the one room in the apartment that wasn’t minimalistic.

“Look at you all. You’re absolutely stunning, I can see he’s taking very good care of you. Why, look at that, you’re blooming out of season. What wonderful plants you are. So lush and verdant. I can feel that he loves you so much, what lucky things you are. You work so hard to impress him, I reckon.” Aziraphale beamed, stoking every leaf with his soft, manicured hands. The plants leaned towards him, desperate for the kind, sweet words and bloomed brighter than Crowley had ever seen them. Crowley watched for a moment, his chest aching and his face hot. There was something about Aziraphale here, surrounded by his plants, that was incredibly intimate and sweet. He looked perfectly comfortable, at home in Crowley’s little garden. He suddenly felt incredibly reminiscent of another, older garden. Finally, he decided to break up the party when a particularly slutty ivy branch tried to fit its way into Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Ok, that’s enough.” Crowley said icely, and the plants withdrew in a hurry. They didn’t stop blooming, but the slight tremor in their stalks betrayed the fear they felt. 

“You truly have quite the green thumb, Crowley. They’re absolutely extraordinary.” Aziraphale spun in a circle, gazing upon each leaf and stalk and flower, “They seem to love you very much, you know. I can almost taste how much they want to impress.”

Aziraphale was looking at Crowley with a light in his eyes that made him feel a bit guilty for how he treated his plants. He shrugged, trying to play it cool, and reached out his hand to lead Aziraphale out of the garden. If they stayed longer, surely Crowley would say something he would regret. 

“You should get some sleep. What with you almost being blown up tonight.”

“We almost got blown up, it wasn’t just me.”

Crowley didn’t respond to that, leading Aziraphale to his bedroom and then turning to leave him there. “Goodnight, angel.”

Only Aziraphale’s hand didn’t let go. If anything, he hung on tighter when Crowley tried to leave. 

“Please, Crowley,” Aziraphale started, sheepish, “My dear, stay with me. Just for tonight.”

Crowley could smell it then. The fear and the sweat and the nervousness of the night. He wasn’t sure how he had missed it before, the smell was so potent it was practically seeping into the hardwood. Aziraphale had, for the first time Crowley could remember, been actually afraid to discorporate. He had feared for himself and for the books and for Crowley, and the fact they were all ok had not quite sunk in yet. There was no way in any plane of existence that Crowley could refuse this simple request. 

They laid together that night. Originally they had occupied their own spaces on either side, but before they knew it they were pressed together in Crowley’s large bed like there was nowhere else in the world for them to fit. Their souls slipped through their fingers and shoulders and legs into one another, dancing as they laid still. Crowley’s soul was content, and he could feel the calm and happiness spread through Aziraphale slowly and completely. 

They were both still dressed, but it was dark and things had ways of coming out in the dark. Crowley couldn’t have known how long Aziraphale had waited to get him alone in a bed. He couldn’t feel how the angel was practically vibrating in his skin with nervous excitement. The darkness was making confession easier, and the diverted panic of dying was still fresh in their bones. Aziraphale moved closer to Crowley, tracing a hand up his clothed chest and stealing his breath away. 

“It’s so cold in Heaven. It’s so bare and isolated,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning in so very close. Crowley could feel the heat radiating off the angel and it was making it hard to think. “It’s not like that here. In here, with you, it’s warm and… comfortable. I was glad when you requested our Arrangement. Something in me feels right when I’m with you. It’s forbidden and wild, but Crowley… You feel like coming home.”

Crowley was breathing hard. He wanted to wrap Aziraphale up in his arms and kiss him senseless, to lay him beneath him and ravish his body until he couldn’t remember the cold emptiness of Heaven any longer. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley could see his outline in the shadows. Slowly, gently, Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. It was like the first time, soft and slow and full of taboo meaning. It was the first time Crowley could remember Aziraphale starting a kiss since the Arrangement started. Crowley felt lightheaded, the cool water of Aziraphale’s soul flowing and threatening to drown him. He was falling, harder than ever. His hands came to Aziraphale’s back, holding him close and pouring all the love he couldn’t say into their kiss. In the day they were friends, at best, but here in the quiet night they could pretend like they could be everything their eternal souls wished to be. 

They kissed and merged and held each other close until the night was deep fallen and a relaxed sleep was behind their eyes. Eventually Aziraphale passed out on Crowley’s chest, reaching for him even in his sleep, and Crowley was captivated by him. If it was closeness Aziraphale craved, Crowley was more than happy to oblige. Crowley could escape the confines of his body, and Aziraphale could explore what being unconditionally loved was really like. Crowley’s lips hovered over his angel’s forehead, taking in the butterscotch scent of his hair, and he felt the poetry rising in his throat before he could stop it. He murmured into his angel’s hair, careful not to wake him.

“Every bone that was broken  
And curse that was thrown  
Every question that I asked  
For answers unknown  
All the pain and suffering  
And demon-burning charms  
Were worth the million-light-year nosedive  
Into your arms.”

“It’s been released in America for a while now, but I haven't had the opportunity to see it. I’ve heard it was rather good, we should go see it together. It’s only here for the night,” Aziraphale was practically vibrating on the couch. Crowley was examining a bookshelf, pretending he wasn’t as interested as he was. 

“I don’t know, you said it was a musical? I know I’m revered for inventing those down below, but watching them myself is another thing.” Crowley made a point not to look at Aziraphale, hoping the issue wouldn’t be pressed further. He was rubbish at refusing offers. But Aziraphale loved musicals, Crowley knew this, and he began mentally reorganizing his evening’s schedule. 

“It’ll be my treat. It looks like there’s only two tickets left, be a shame to waste them.” Aziraphale was pouting. Jesus fucking Christ. Crowley groaned, head rolling back, and Aziraphale instantly was grinning again. 

“Perfect! Let me get changed, I picked up the perfect suit in the late 19th century for this.” Aziraphale was practically wiggling. He hopped up and went upstairs to his bedroom, leaving Crowley to gaze after where his figure had last been. He didn’t really understand why Aziraphale chose to physically keep clothing. Crowley cracked his neck, tracing a hand down his chest and letting his old clothes melt into something new and fancy. The black of his jacket shimmered and changed, staining white and spreading until he stood in a white suit, a red poppy handkerchief accenting his pocket. Formal clothes were so uncomfortable, but Crowley decided he liked this look. He never wore white, but something about the pure color felt just forbidden enough to be really, really nice. And if he ended up matching with Aziraphale as his date, who would say anything. 

The angel came back downstairs at that instant, and all air was instantly stolen from Crowley’s lungs. Aziraphale stood there, regal and smiling, in a suit blacker than night. The contrast brought out the blue of his eyes and the white, fluffy curls of his hair. Crowley loved his angel in white, but black fit him so much better. He looked absolutely decadent, and forming words became impossible. 

“That’s a look I haven’t seen on you before.” Aziraphale’s voice was rough, like how Crowley felt. Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat, then cleared it away before he embarrassed himself further.

“I could say the same.” Crowley couldn’t stop staring. His heart felt light and airy, yearning in a way he wasn’t used to yet. For lack of a better word, Aziraphale looked fucking delicious. Crowley wanted to kiss him, to shower love all over him until he couldn’t breathe, but pushed the feeling away. 

They ended up walking to the theater. There were many people dressed in finery as they approached, but something about the ethereal duo caught the eyes of passersbys. Maybe it was Aziraphale’s casual glow or his angelic smile, or maybe it was Crowley’s sunglasses at night or how he would glare at anyone who got just a little too close to his friend. Whatever it was, they stood out without even trying to. Crowley glanced at the posters outside as they made their way in. The Sound of Music. Well, it couldn’t be terrible if the theater had sold out, right?

A man with a camera stood just inside the door, greeting patrons and taking pictures of girls dressed in pearls and men with top hats. Crowley had quite a fondness for cameras ever since their invention. He had created a rather ingenious method of damnation a few years ago called a “selfie”, and actually became very fond of them. After the first dozen or so, the other demons in hell had gotten tired of constantly being pulled into pictures and all but threw Crowley back to the surface without even looking at his status report. He was particularly proud of the unflattering one he had taken with Lord Beelzebub while being dragged out of Hell. That one was in his living room.

Getting their picture taken together like this was dangerous. Either side could easily find out about the Arrangement from it, but neither angel nor demon seemed to care. Aziraphale slotted an arm to intertwine with Crowley’s, a bright smile playing on his face, and Crowley just barely managed to tear his eyes away in time before the flash of the camera blinded them both. 

“Oh, excuse me sir, I can take another without your sunglasses.” The young man with the camera said immediately afterwards, but Crowley waved the suggestion away. Aziraphale separated from him and fast-walked towards a group of what Crowley assumed were either actors or screenwriters. The man with the camera held out a paper for him and turned away once Crowley took it, welcoming other guests. 

The piece of paper was actually the photo. Crowley stared at it for a moment, something in his chest doing a cartwheel. He had never seen himself and Aziraphale in the same picture before, but something about it just looked like they belonged. They were opposites in so many ways that together it made them seem whole. Crowley tucked the picture into his pocket.

Aziraphale came back then, holding what looked to be a signed screenplay. He said something, but Crowley was distracted by the snake pattern that had materialized on his tartan collar. Had that always been there? It was subtle, but there were definitely red-accented snakes on the fabric. It shouldn’t have even mattered, but why did it make Crowley feel so fuzzy inside? 

The lights flashed twice above them, signalling the play would start soon. They followed the crowds into the music hall, chatting and blissfully unaware that they both would find the next three hours to be the longest and worst spent hours in their entire 6000 year existence on this planet. 

“You go to fast for me, Crowley.”

Why did Aziraphale have to say those words with the softest, most broken expression Crowley had ever seen? Why did he have to hand him a thermos of holy water, the only thing Crowley had ever begged for, and confess his concern for the demon’s wellbeing only to shut down all his advances? Crowley was confused how the fuck could he be going too fast if they had been snogging in unlit alleys and broom closets for hundreds of years now. They had even spent the night together tangled in each other’s limbs. They went to dinner and the theater and sought each other out multiple times a decade. Granted, none of this was in a romantic sense, but the idea shouldn’t be new and novel anymore. There was no way in Heaven that Aziraphale was stupid enough not to notice how head-over-heels Crowley was for him. 

“What the fuck?” Crowley whispered at the road as he drove home alone. He felt the words pooling in his chest, and screamed them at the windshield, “What the fuck!”

He could feel his future with Aziraphale melting away. All that he had hoped for was gone. Aziraphale did not love him, maybe didn’t even consider him a friend. Crowley was a demon, and Aziraphale was an angel, and even though they had been on their own side for thousands of years it wasn’t enough. Crowley felt helpless and broken, involuntarily slowing down as he made his way home.

Rain pelted the windshield of the Bently. The sound of was just short of gunshots, but was still completely drowned out by the ever persistent Freddie Mercury. He didn’t even hear it. It wasn’t important. Hardly any of it felt important anymore. 

He flipped down the visor before he could think better of it. His own eyes stared back at him beside a smiling Aziraphale at the theater all those years ago. His heart ached at the memory and at the present, and he blinked the tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t cried since Mesopotamia, and that wasn’t going to change now. 

But the more Crowley thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Aziraphale had been the first one to kiss him, long before they had come up with that part of the Arrangement. Aziraphale had been the one to stay at his apartment during the Blitz. If Crowley didn’t know better, it was like Aziraphale craved physical intimacy in the same way Crowley craved it emotionally. 

Crowley blinked at the road. Of course, that made sense! Aziraphale didn’t recognize anything outside of emotional intimacy as being love. But his body betrayed him, time and time again. He had been doing things that kept Crowley close for years, maybe without even knowing it, but tonight was the first night Crowley had hinted at something more emotional than a snog in the Bently. He had wanted to drive and talk and it had made Aziraphale overwhelmed. 

“You go to fast for me,” The words rang in Crowley’s head again, but now they sounded different. It wasn’t a rejection at all. It was a plea. Aziraphale wasn’t ready to broaden their relationship like that yet. The reasons why were a mystery, but Crowley couldn’t stop the smile reaching his lips. Aziraphale liked him back. Maybe it wasn’t to the same extent, but somewhere in that stubborn angel’s heart was a small place just for Crowley. He just had to play his cards right, maybe approach the topic more gently over lunch, and after a few millenia he would try again. He didn’t want to, but he would wait tenfold the age of the universe just to hold Aziraphale’s hand.

Who would have guessed that Armageddon would be so near.

We all know the story. The Antichrist is born, Crowley and Aziraphale work together to raise him the best they can, the Antichrist isn’t actually the son of the American diplomat, and so on. There are a thousand stories to be told from those years. But that part isn’t important now, in the hours before the apocalypse starts. 

Crowley had never felt terror like this. It was a matter of time before Hastur came after him again, but he had bought a few hours at best to make his move. This wouldn’t have happened if Aziraphale had just gotten in the damn car with him. They could be halfway across the stars at this point, toasting champagne and finding a nice star to swim in for a bit. His stupid, brilliant angel and his insufferable assurance that the world would be fine. 

Aziraphale didn’t pick up the phone. That was unlike him and with everything else going on it made a thick knot of worry settle in Crowley’s chest. Something was horribly wrong. 

The bookshop was on fire. Even from outside Crowley could see pages curling and exploding and all the precious things Aziraphale loved ending. Crowley didn’t care, not right now, because he couldn’t sense or smell Aziraphale anywhere in the bookshop. 

“Aziraphale!” He yelled. He couldn’t stop, calling out again and again until his throat was raw from smoke and his fingers were becoming charred, but he got no answer. Crowley got knocked over by a stream of water from the window, ladning flat on his arse. His sunglasses were melting onto his skin and the air was toxic but Crowley couldn’t feel it. Aziraphale, always present even when he was gone, wasn’t anywhere anymore. He tried to broaden his sense, enveloping all of England within himself, but there was nothing. The grief was stronger than Crowley could have expected, washing over him like ice as he sat surrounded by his world crumbling. 

Aziraphale. His friend, his love, his everything. Gone. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be real. Crowley was numb as he picked up the one book that wasn’t burning and left the building. The shop exploded in the rearview mirror. Oxygen didn’t exist anymore. 

“And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think of you!” Crowley’s own words echoed in his head. They had fought, in their final moments together they had fought. Crowley had ran away like he always did. He felt cold and more alone than he ever had. Falling had been less painful. 

It wasn’t until Crowley parked that he realized he was crying. The tears were never ending, streaming without restraint down his cheeks and soaking his shirt. Crowley buried his head in his hands, letting the silent sobs overtake him for the first time in 5000 years. But there was no comforting hand this time. There was no Aziraphale. His angel, his beautiful and amazing angel, was gone for good. Heaven didn’t play with niceties anymore like that had with Crowley and the other demons. Heaven liked to play with Hellfire when treason was involved. 

He couldn’t even go up there and check. Aziraphale might still be alive, scared and in pain. Or he could be dead already. Crowley could imagine him crying out in agony as the Hellfire spread through his soul. Aziraphale was always so strong and brave, but Crowley could hear it anyway. He was too sober for this much grief.

And so he drank. He drank like his world had been ripped away from him. He drank like the universe was ending and he didn’t care. He drank like he was experiencing a grief worse than Falling, worse than Jesus, worse than being killed by Satan himself. He drank for Aziraphale, because he couldn’t do it himself. He drank like it was possible to forget life itself. 

Thunder cracked in the sky. Crowley cut himself off mid-rant, his heart seizing in his throat as the smoky outline of Aziraphale hovered before him. It was… well, angelic. Crowley could hear the cracks in his voice as he croaked Aziraphale’s name, suppressing a fresh wave of tears. A tiny flame of hope flared in his chest. Aziraphale’s voice fed the fire, until Crowley felt like he was being burned alive inside. He wasn’t dead. Just discorporated.

Aziraphale was gone in less than a minute, but Crowley had all he needed. Like Heaven he was going to sit around drinking while his angel went to fight. He had been there every time Aziraphale needed him, and plenty of times when he didn’t. If they were going to actually die today, Crowley was going to do it properly, standing beside the man he loved and fighting for what he believed in.

But, just like that, Armageddon was done. They had ended up not doing much more than talking. It was Adam that had really done everything. Crowley always had a soft spot for kids, but he would have adopted Adam in a second. The boy had even given Aziraphale a proper body to inhabit, which Crowley tried very hard not to be excited about. The next millennium would have been a little awkward with Madame Tracy hanging around. 

They rode the bus back. It reminded Crowley of driving Aziraphale home after the Blitz, but now was different. Now there was a tension hanging in the air, relief and fear and something Crowley couldn’t identify. Aziraphale was flexing his fingers like he could still feel the burning sword in his grip, and Crowley caught himself staring at the motion. Before he could stop himself, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

The world stopped again, nothing moving but the wheels of the bus as Crowley gently traced a fingertip over Aziraphale’s palm. They didn’t breathe, didn’t speak, couldn’t even look away as Crowley followed the creases of Aziraphale’s hand with his finger, running the length of his heart line with uncharacteristic tenderness. He drew spirals and boxes and star systems in Aziraphale’s hand, forming their own little world outside of todays’ chaos. It was unbearably romantic, despite the lack of words, but Aziraphale did not pull away. He simply watched, breathless, as Crowley laid out the intricate plans of his heart. Aziraphale accepted it all, gaze wistful, and let his watery soul just barely brush the edges of Crowley’s.

“I thought I had lost you,” Crowley whispered, still looking down, “I went into your bookshop as it was burning. I thought Heaven had come and killed you, and that my final words were that I didn’t need you.”

The silence stretched on, unbroken but for rocks in the road. Finally, Crowley stopped his hands and looked up.

“I lied, Aziraphale. I do need you. I’ve always needed you. No matter where I travel, be it to Tadfield or to Alpha Centauri, I could never rid you from my mind. You’re in my blood, in my soul, and to pretend you were ever anything else would be like denying that I Fell.”

Aziraphale sucked in a soft breath, meeting Crowley’s eyes. There was a conversation behind his angel, one that had already been settled but was still trying to protest, and after a moment Aziraphale smiled. He laced their fingers together. 

“Well, then. Let’s not say we don’t need each other anymore.” 

It was silent for a long time after that. Crowley’s fingers picked up where they had left off, tracing patterns onto Aziraphale’s skin that would leave goosebumps along his arms. Neither of them wanted the moment to end as the bus approached London, but things needed to be discussed. 

“I believe I know what Agnes meant,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley looked up slightly, hands tensing ever so slightly around Aziraphale’s own. “About choosing faces. I believe it has something to do with the Arrangement.”

Crowley let himself consider that for a moment. Aziraphale couldn’t possibly suggesting that they do something like that.

“We’ve never gone that far before.”

“We’ve never tried. I think it could work.”

Crowley hummed. It was worth a shot. Plus, if they really were about to be destroyed, Crowley wasn’t going out without feeling his angel one last time.

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

No matter how many times they did this, Crowley didn’t know how to start. It was remarkably hard to say “Hey, Aziraphale, you know how we occasionally snog like there’s no tomorrow? Well, I’d like to do that again. Especially now, since there won’t be a tomorrow for either of us if we don’t.” 

Suddenly Crowley’s bedroom felt too bare. At least in the bookshop there were things to focus on that weren’t Aziraphale’s shockingly intense eyes. It didn’t help that he didn’t want to start, because that would mean eventually they’d have to finish, and then they’d have to go off alone and there was a good chance they would both die. But he had to say something, didn’t he? 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Crowley said. That… wasn’t what he meant to say, but he did smell like burnt rubber and grease and old alcohol. A shower was probably a good idea. 

Crowley had always loved showers, even during the ages where he was in danger of being discoporated by a mob for endorsing clean bathing habits. There was something cathartic about washing away the day under a stream of boiling hot water. It was like a rainstorm you didn’t have to wait for.

He sighed into the steaming air, letting the warmth seep into him. Slowly, with the help of his apple-scented soap, the dirt and grief of the day was coming loose. On a whim he summoned his wings, letting the hot water saturate the feathers and soothe the aches that were lodged deep in the muscles. There was still something heavy in his chest that made his eyes sting. He supposed the fact Aziraphale was still alive hadn’t processed yet. Right now, they had more important issues. 

Crowley emerged from the bathroom in only a pair of pajama pants he had miracled, towel drying his wings the best he could. Once they no longer dripped, Crowley spread them out and shook out the feathers that had gone crooked, shuddering at the pleasant sensation. 

Aziraphale wasn’t in the bedroom where Crowley had left him. He was, in fact, in the garden visiting Crowley’s plants. Though they were taller and greener now, they remembered Aziraphale well from all those years ago and leaned in at his comforting presence. 

“Oh, hello again,” Aziraphale murmured to the ivy plant. He ran a hand up it’s stalk, laughing as the plant practically sparkled in joy and wove its way up to the ceiling. He spoke kind words to each plant, leaving blooms in his wake.

“You all seem so hungry for my affection. Does Crowley not tell you how much he loves you all? He has sort of connection with you all, it’s as if he is a part of you.” Aziraphale paused. He looked around at the leaves around him. Not a spot or blemish could be found on any leaf. Now that he thought about it, there were less plants in the room than before, demonstrated by the small pile of plastic planters by the door. Crowley had confessed while drunk once that he hadn’t been able to hurt a living creature since the 6th century, including his house plants, so the sudden disappearances were confusing. It was as if any unsatisfactory plants had been cast out of the garden. 

Oh. Aziraphale understood now. He looked around at the plants that were subtly weaving around his body like they couldn’t get close enough. Now that he thought about it, they reminded him painfully of Crowley himself. They would defy their master for a single word of praise. They would risk destruction just to indulge in a soft touch. They couldn’t even feel how loved they were. 

Something on the table by the door caught the light and reflected it into Aziraphale’s eyes. He turned and followed the glimmer. It was a picture frame, with gold filigree around the edges and an antique polaroid that Aziraphale had forgotten ever existed. His breath caught in his chest. After all these years, Crowley had kept this. 

Said demon chose that moment to enter the garden through a door on the other side, glowering at the blooming plants. 

“What are you all happy about?” Crowley all but snarled out, causing quite a few plants to draw back in fear. Aziraphale had no doubt been telling them sweet nothings again, indulging them like the greedy sluts they were and probably insisting that spots weren’t a bad thing. 

Said angel was on the other side of the room, holding a frame Crowley had never seen before. He stepped closer, his wings ever so slightly dragging the ground from where they were folded on his back. All at once he recognized the photo.

“But, that was in the Bently,” Crowley said in surprise. Adam must still be setting things right. It wasn’t until the words were out that he realized the truth sounded much more incriminating than any excuse he could have made. 

“You mean you’ve kept this since we saw the Sound of Music?” Aziraphale asked softly. Crowley tried to speak again, but the words were gone now. Aziraphale set the frame back on the table. There was something unreadable on his face, something Crowley was scared of but wanted every bit of it blanketing his skin like water. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, closing the space between their bodies. Blue eyes traveled down Crowley’s body, trailing over his shower-flushed chest and his jet-black wings that still glistening with water, and the angel shivered. Crowley always thought he was just slightly too lanky to do the tempting role as a demon, but the way Aziraphale was looking at him now made him reconsider. He stood there, inches away, and suddenly Crowley was back on that rainy street in London, covered in mud. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and pulled him in. There was barely a moment to process what was about to happen before Aziraphale kissed him hard.

It was different than the kisses they had shared before. There was meaning and heart behind it, and Aziraphale was all over him like he couldn’t get close enough. Crowley kissed him back, pulling Aziraphale in by the waist as the angel wrapped both arms around his neck. 

It felt right. For all the times that their relationship was forbidden, or frowned upon, or the kissing was purely professional, this kiss held love that could have toppled empires, destroyed tyrants, and diverted bombs. It was a kiss 6000 years in the making. 

It was heady and breathless and a little sloppy and Crowley had never been kissed like this before. For the first time, he felt wanted. He could feel Aziraphale’s skin thrumming with life in his arms, his presence so warm and inviting and deafening that the world narrowed down to only him. Crowley forgot about the garden, about the plants looking on in confusion, and did his best not to explode on the spot. 

Aziraphale was moving, burying his fingers into Crowley’s wings and tracing along the bones. Crowley’s wings flared at that, nearly knocking over a plant that was getting a little too curious. His entire body shuddered and the attempt to muffle his moan came in too late to stifle the noise. Aziraphale grinned against his lips, kissing him soundly and massaging the stiff muscles right where wing met shoulder. 

It was indecent and lewd and hot and so very nice that Crowley felt like he could come on the spot. He tried to convey this to Aziraphale the best he could: by gripping him tighter to his chest, curling his toes, and releasing a desperate noise that was much too high to have come from his lips. 

Aziraphale bit Crowley’s lower lip, sending sparks across his eyelids, and pulled back. A silver line of saliva connected them still. Crowley already felt wrecked, his blush spreading into every corner of his soul. Aziraphale, although remarkably composed, was looking at Crowley like he wanted to eat him alive. 

“How long?” Aziraphale was guiding him backwards by his hips, voice gravel rough. Crowley tried clearing his throat, but there was a hot coal stuck in it that was determined not to move. He was aware that his hair was smoking slightly. Aziraphale guided him out of the garden and back into the bedroom, but all Crowley could see was those eyes and those beautiful, opalescent wings that had materialized behind his angel.

“I don’t want to say,” Crowley’s voice cracked. He felt the bed hit behind his knees, and suddenly Aziraphale was pushing him backwards onto it, looming over him on the sheets like a panther. 

“Anthony J Crowley, how long have you been in love with me?”

“6021 years, 10 months, 18 hours, and 3 minutes.” There was no hesitation in Crowley’s voice. His wings were spread out below him, pants betraying the lust he was feeling, and Aziraphale looked like he was about to combust. White feathers completed the cocoon around them, focusing Crowley’s attention solely on Aziraphale.

“Good Lord,” His angel murmured over him, burying his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck and taking a moment to just breathe. Crowley took advantage of the moment to get his hands under Aziraphale’s coat. He pushed the fabric off the angel’s shoulders, impatient for more contact, and set about blindly undoing buttons. 

Aziraphale sunk his teeth into Crowley’s neck, drawing a loud groan from the demon, and sat back to trace those soft hands over his chest. 

“You’ve waited so long. You’ve been so good to me, again and again. In France and in the Blitz and today, you’ve come around again and again to rescue me. You’re my saving grace. So good,” Aziraphale enunciated this last statement with a rather rough pinch to Crowley’s nipple. Crowley gasped and arched off the bed, hands suddenly gripping what remained of Aziraphale’s shirt. He wanted to tell Aziraphale to stop, to keep going, that if he kept saying things like that Crowley would probably die right here on the bed, but words weren’t an option anymore. At best all that would come out would be a sound not unlike a hiss.

“You’re so beautiful, Crowley. All laid out for me and begging to be taken. You’re so gorgeous and wonderful and brave. I love everything about you. I love how you change your hair and how you saunter down the street and your stunning yellow eyes. I love your slim hips and your serpent tongue. I love how you came to save me today in a flaming chariot. You’re wonderful, my dear. Just stunning. I love you.”

Aziraphale was dropping kisses down Crowley’s chest and he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t survive this tender roughness, how Aziraphale’s fingernails were scratching down his legs as his pants were removed and how he could just say things like he wasn’t Crowley’s undoing. Aziraphale’s wings stretched out above them, causing a few white feathers to drift down onto Crowley’s chest. They were soft and light and carried the coolness of Aziraphale’s soul within them.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley didn’t sound half as broken as he was, but his voice was still unthinkably soft, “Angel, I can’t… You can’t say things like that, or I’ll-” 

Crowley cut himself off with a gasp when Aziraphale touched his aching cock. It was just a light brush of fingers, testing, but it made Crowley’s wings spasm beneath him. Oh mercy, that felt too good. Heat pricked behind his eyes as he struggled not to come, his breath ragged and fast. 

Aziraphale, tired of waiting, snapped his fingers and rid himself of his clothing. They ended up neatly folded on Crowley’s dresser behind them, forgotten for the evening. Finally, gloriously, Aziraphale pressed his naked body down into Crowley’s. The hot length of his body was intoxicating. Crowley pulled his angel down for a kiss, trying to express all the words he couldn’t put into reality, and rolled his hips upwards.

For all the places where Crowley was boney and hard, Aziraphale was soft and plush. He adored it, running his hands the length of Aziraphale’s sides and trying to memorize how his body was shaped. He felt so wonderful, warm and comfy and smelling of butterscotch. Of all of Her creations, Aziraphale was by far the most wonderful. Crowley brought his legs up to cage Aziraphale in, wrapping around him like a snake who had finally been set free to smother his angel in affection.

Their cocks slotted together and dragged, causing both parties to groan loudly. Aziraphale braced his weight on either side of Crowley’s head, eyes closed and panting softly as he moved his hips with all the sweet patience he had lacked a moment before. Crowley was going to explode. It was too sweet, too much, and he felt like his chest was going to split open from all the love he had bottled up over that past 6000 years. 

Beneath the lust and the impatience, Crowley could feel something else settling into his bones. He could feel Aziraphale’s soul slipping into his body. The sensation was so comfortable that Crowley didn’t even notice it at first. He felt like the puzzle pieces that had been askew since he Fell were shifting back into place, driven by the deep well of Aziraphale’s love, and everything was slowly becoming right with the universe. 

Aziraphale whispered what could have been a curse into the space between them, reaching down a hand to help them slide together where they were most sensitive. Crowley was trying his best not to become overwhelmed with the intense sensations, reaching up and grasping at the base of Aziraphale’s wings. His nails dug through the down feathers and found his angel’s pulse, the beating of his heart matching with the slightly fluttering of his pinions. 

Aziraphale made a noise that was utterly sinful and went straight to Crowley’s cock. He suddenly found himself pinned to the bed with renewed vigor, Aziraphale kissing him like he needed him to breathe and grinding hard down into him. Crowley dug his fingers through Aziraphale’s soft feathers, trying to suppress his grin as he lowered his wings for Crowley to reach them better. His wonderful, beautiful angel.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s whole body was twitching, his cock dragging heavily on Crowley’s abdomen. The demon craned his head to glance between them and nearly came on the spot. Feeling how much Aziraphale wanted him was one thing, but actually seeing it was enough to drive him insane.

“Angel, please,” Crowley looked up, hands tracing Aziraphale’s jawline, “Aziraphale. I want you. Please, I want you.” 

“How do you want me, love?” 

Now that was the question, wasn’t it? The obvious answer was in every and all ways, all the time from now until eternity. But Crowley did not have the vocabulary to say that right now. All he could do was to cant his hips upwards and practically growl out “Now!”

Aziraphale tsked above him, but didn’t say anything more. Instead he trailed his hand lower, taking his sweet fucking time in feeling every inch of Crowley’s upper thighs. By the time those miraculous fingers actually reached where he wanted them, Crowley was a puddle of goo on the sheets. 

The first finger was a slight shock. Crowley had never done this with anyone before and it had been quite some time since he attempted anything like this on himself, so the sensation caught him off guard. Aziraphale paused at how Crowley tensed, watching his expression closely, and then suddenly Crowley felt a growing wetness spread inside his body and down his arse cheeks. 

“Really, angel?” Crowley’s quirked eyebrow was probably undermined by his deep blush, “Miracling lube now, are we?”

Aziraphale chuckled, the sound coming from his chest and being entirely too sexy. 

“I would have just miracled you ready, but I’d prefer to do this properly.” 

Aziraphale slipped his finger completely inside Crowley, causing the demon to throw his head back and groan. Despite the lube, the friction was delicious. Crowley could feel himself relaxing into the sensation, rolling his hips down for more, deeper, faster. Aziraphale took the hint, adding more fingers into the mix and working Crowley open. 

It was star-shattering. Crowley couldn’t breathe, holding onto Aziraphale’s shoulders and trying his best to reciprocate at least somewhat. After the third failed attempt at a kiss, Aziraphale pushed Crowley down and did it himself, slipping his tongue into his mouth and a third finger deep inside him. 

Finally, after what felt like eons, Aziraphale sat back and pulled his fingers out. Crowley shivered at the loss, his chest heaving as he stared up at his angel. 

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale’s voice was like honey, “So open for me, so good. Tell me what you need.”

Crowley bit his bottom lips, forcing his brain to form words. After a moment he knew what he had to do, and used the leverage of his legs to flip them over on the bed. Aziraphale yelped in surprise and the sound was enough to make Crowley’s toes curl. 

It was a good view. Aziraphale’s wings were spread out below him, shimmering and beautiful; the white complimented the blush on his face and chest nicely. He looked utterly disheveled and undone, like how Crowley had been trying to get him for years. What he hadn’t expected was those eyes. Those pale blue-silver eyes that were piercing into Crowley’s own and devouring him. There was thousands of years of repressed lust in those eyes. Crowley felt a thrill that they were focused only on himself.

“What I need is for you to lay here and tell me if I do something you like,” Crowley’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, “Tell me if I do good. I will take care of the rest.”

Aziraphale was breathing hard, hands on Crowley’s hips where he was straddling him. Crowley lifted himself up, wings raising above him to help stabilize himself, and didn’t allow himself time to think before he lowered himself onto Aziraphale’s hard cock.

Crowley swore he could see the cosmos. He whimpered as he sat completely down onto Aziraphale, his body twitching and trying to adjust to the intrusion. Aziraphale’s cock was shorter than his own but much thicker, and Crowley was having a hard time not dying of pure pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Aziraphale swore below him. Crowley couldn’t remember the last time Aziraphale had actually cursed, and the sound made his lower body jerk. Both of them moaned at the sudden movement. Crowley’s hips suddenly were not able to stop themselves, sliding up and down Aziraphale’s length and grinding circles against his hips. He gasped and doubled over his angel, bracing himself and trying desperately to hold onto his sanity as his body sang with pleasure.

Aziraphale placed a hand on the back of Crowley’s head and brought him in, kissing his forehead with shaking lips. It was so chaste and intimate that Crowley found himself immediately overwhelmed, tears pricking at his eyes. 

“That’s it, my love. Oh, that feels delightful. Just like that. You feel so good, darling, so wonderful on my cock.” Aziraphale was helping Crowey’s hips find their mark with his hand, pulling the demon back to him every time. Crowley felt like he was going to split apart. 

“A-Angel,” Crowley stuttered, the pressure inside him building like a can of soda being shaken. His dick brushed against Aziraphale’s belly with every movement, the slight friction causing him to lose hold on his control. He wanted this to last forever, but his stamina told him this would be over very quickly. 

He didn’t notice he was crying until the tears dropped onto Aziraphale’s chest. His angel smiled up at him, as sweet as they day they met, and wiped the persistent water from Crowley’s face. 

“It’s alright, darling. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re so good for me, look at you. You’re going to come on my cock, aren’t you? So perfect, Crowley. I love you.”

Crowley gasped and stilled, sunk all the way down, and spasmed as he came. The world shrank away save for Aziraphale’s voice and his glowing hair and the way he was touching him. He came like a supernova, lights popping behind his eyes and unintelligible sounds escaping his lips as he rode the wave to its completion. Crowley was floating, falling, crashing into his angel and fusing their souls into one. It felt so good it hurt. Mercy, Crowley wanted to hurt like this for all eternity. 

He was vaguely aware that Aziraphale was clutching his hips, thrusting up into him a few additional times before he was coming too. Crowley could feel the warmth seeping into him, marking him as Aziraphale’s, and for a glorious moment there wasn’t a border between their bodies at all. They were just one soul, one body, one love. 

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing as one. Slowly, the feeling in Crowley’s fingers was coming back. He felt like he could sleep for a week, lulled by the rhythm of Aziraphale’s heart beating under his head. 

Aziraphale was rubbing his back, whispering sweet words of praise into his hair. Crowley’s eyes were wet, the occasional tear escaping him, but he felt safe and loved and so very happy wrapped up in angel arms and wings. He couldn’t stop himself from whispering back to his angel, confessing the depths of his love in ways he couldn’t do before.

Crowley’s soul no longer felt like it was tethered to his body. Aziraphale had become as much a part of him as his eyes, and just the press of their bodies together was enough to trace every nook and cranny of their souls. 

No words needed to be said. They both knew what needed to be done. Just a handshake would have been enough to complete the transfer, but they had never been people who did things halfway. So while they laid on the bed, bodies and minds tangled and dancing, their souls swapped places for the day. It felt a bit odd, sitting in Aziraphale’s body and completely leaving his own, but they had all night to exchange until they were comfortable. By the time morning broke, it was like they had lived in each other’s bodies since the beginning.

To say it went off without a hitch would be an understatement. The entire event had worked almost too perfectly. The angels didn’t suspect that anything was out of the ordinary. Maintaining his composure was difficult when Gabriel told him to die, but only because Crowley couldn’t suppress the fantasy of grilling the archangel slowly over an open fire and scattering his innards to feed a sea of wolves. Aziraphale outranked them all, the concept of such insults should have burned their eyeball from their heads. However, knowing Aziraphale, he probably never threatened them with authority. At least Crowley could make them shudder in their perfect suits as he survived their Hellfire. He just hoped Aziraphale was having as much fun down below.

Crowley had never tasted relief like when he saw Aziraphale in the park. He had been afraid they had been wrong about Hell, and his angel was being forced to spend eternity being Lord Satan’s footstool. They were both alive. They were both free. They deserved a spot of lunch for that.

Not having any prying eyes focused on them was a new and welcome sensation. It took days before Crowley even began to get used to it, and by then he and Aziraphale had done many things that would have gotten them fired before. Crowley promised himself to never take his chances for granted again. Who knew how long this peace would last. At least Aziraphale would be with him next time, holding his hand and protecting the world. 

“There’s actually quite a few new additions, I’ve found,” Aziraphale continued his story, practically dancing circles around Crowley as he set about reorganizing his bookshop shelves for the third time in as many weeks. “For example, Adam had written a short book of his own last year, and now it’s in leather print on my mantle. No matter where I move it that’s where it returns to, but I’ve started to grow quite fond of it there. I seem to find new books every day. Like, look! I never owned any books bound in teal leather before!”

Aziraphale took the book in question off the shelf and gazed at it’s cover, suddenly quiet. 

“What is it?” Crowley asked, craning to see the cover. He froze as soon as he recognized the words, ice trickling down his spine. Aziraphale cleared his throat, reading the words aloud. 

“The Nice and Accurate Love Story of A. J. Crowley and A. Z. Fell. Written by A. J. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes looked up questioningly. Whatever he was about to ask was answered by the growing flush on Crowley’s face. 

“Must be another Crowley.” He tried to sound dismissive, but the words came out hollow. Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow, opening the volume to a random page and reading. 

“I have seen kings on thrones of gold  
And tempted them to damnation.  
I have held mothers dying of cold  
And promised their children salvation.  
I have altered the path of death  
To settle petty squabbles.  
I have stolen a tyrants breath  
Despite his insistent grovels.  
I have done many wrongs in this world  
That could never be forgiven  
And I have done mercies by your word  
That I’ve struggled to keep hidden.  
For you take the kindness buried in me  
And make each sweet act coveted.  
So until eternal night falls over the boiling sea  
I’m yours, my immortal beloved. “

Crowley was staring out the window, biting his lower lip and pretending he didn’t know the words by heart. He had written them, after all. It was how he had coped all these years without Aziraphale in his arms. It wasn’t poetry that was ever meant for anyone to read. 

Behind him, Aziraphale was nearly combusting with want. Crowley had written these words about him, for him, who knows how many years ago. How did he not see it before? Aziraphale hugged the book to his chest, stepping towards Crowley and turning him around with the softest touch of his hand. 

Kissing him was natural, like breathing or singing, and sat a thousand times better in his soul. It would be one of many kisses that were to come, here in the world that hadn’t ended. They stood and they kissed and they enveloped their souls within each other. And if the sign on the door turned to closed and the shutters were pulled down, no one was around to keep score.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they kissed. Gently.
> 
> All original poetry by me! I was inspired for the smut scenes by anotherwellkeptsecret's art on Tumblr (can be found here: https://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/post/185941340679/ )
> 
> Comments and kudos are always loved <3


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